"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 005 - Gangdom's Doom" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

Fellows opened the back door and entered. He closed the door and peered through the window, up and
down the street. He saw no one. Then, to his surprise, the car began to move.

It started suddenly and Fellows lurched back into the seat. His outstretched hand struck a human form.
There, beside him, was a man, trussed with rope and gagged.

THE car stopped around the corner, just as Fellows turned on the light in the rear. So intent was the
insurance broker that he did not realize the car was no longer in motion.
For the light had revealed the features of the bound man, and Fellows looked upon Louie, Prescott's
chauffeur!

"What's the big idea?"

The voice came from the front seat. Fellows looked into the face of the man who had taken the
chauffeur's place. The speaker had the ugly countenance of a professional thug.

"How did you get in here?" he demanded, still glaring angrily at Fellows.

Before the insurance broker could reply, he was startled by a volley of revolver shots.

The sound came from around the corner, back at the entrance where the car had been standing.

"Come on!" ordered the driver. "Scram out of this car before—"

Fellows needed no urging. He knew instinctively that murder was under way. He leaped to the street and
dashed back around the corner.

A car was pulling away from the curb. A body was lying on the sidewalk.

Fellows ran toward the fallen man. Shots hit the paving beside him. The men in the fleeing car had seen
his action, and had fired as their car turned the corner.

Fellows ducked into the entrance; then, realizing that the danger had passed, he hurried toward the man
who lay on the sidewalk.

"Dead!" he exclaimed, as he lifted the man's shoulders. The form was limp and lifeless.

The head dropped back as Fellows raised the body. The light from the front of the building fell directly
on the face. A gasp of horror came from the lips of the insurance broker.

The murdered man was Horace Prescott!

CHAPTER II. FELLOWS SPEAKS
A SMALL group of men stood about the spot where Horace Prescott's body lay. Three uniformed
policemen were on duty, ordering the passers-by to keep moving. Another gang killing was sufficient to
draw a crowd—even in Chicago.

A few plain-clothes men were on the scene. The only other privileged individuals were two or three men
who had eluded the vigilance of the policemen, and who were standing in the background.